Her place was just under six hundred square feet of recently weatherized cottage, so it took a total of five seconds to reach the middle of her living room. She turned to face him and saw that he’d removed his shades and was hooking one temple arm into the neck of his T-shirt. Raising her gaze from his strong, tanned throat, she met his eyes for the first time.
Shock jolted through her. Oh, God. Only one other person in the world had eyes that pale, pale green—the exact same shade as the summer shallows in the fjord that was Hood Canal.
Austin.
Anger was deep, immediate and visceral. And it had her drawing herself up to her not-so-great greatest height. “Let me guess,” she said with ice-edged diction. “You must be Jake Bradshaw.”
When she looked at him now, she didn’t see that compelling face or the abundant sex appeal. Instead, she pictured all the times Austin thought his father might call, might show up, and the stark disappointment each and every time that didn’t happen. Disdain she couldn’t quite disguise tugged at her upper lip.
“Mighty big of you to finally decide you could spare your kid a minute of your precious time.”
* * *
FOR OVER A DECADE, Jake had dealt with all manner of people. He’d long ago perfected the art of letting things slide off his back. Yet for some reason the contempt from this little female dug barbed needles under his skin.
It didn’t make a damn bit of sense. The woman was all of five foot nothing, for crissake, and her shiny dark hair, plaited into two thick little-girl braids, with a hank of long bangs pulling free from the left one, didn’t exactly promote a grown-up vibe. She had spare curves, clear olive skin and brown eyes so dark it made the surrounding sclera look almost blue-white in comparison. Dark eyebrows winged above them, and her slender nose had a slight bump to its bridge.
His brows met over the thrust of his own nose. “Who the hell do you think you are, lady?”
Okay, not what he’d intended to say. But being back in Razor Bay, the place he’d spent most of his teen years plotting to see the last of in his rearview mirror—well, it put him on edge. Plus, after the thirty-two-hour trip from Minahasa to Davao to Manila to Vancouver to Seattle to here, he was so dead on his feet he was all but punch-drunk. Not to mention seriously tense at the thought of seeing his kid after all these years. Of having full responsibility for him for the first time.
So excuse the hell out of him for reacting to the contempt in her voice and his own flicker of temper that here was yet someone else who thought they could dictate to him about his son.
Stuffing down every negative feeling that arose, however, he managed to moderate his tone when he inquired, “And you think you have the right to judge me, why?” God knew, he’d done enough of that on his own. He didn’t need some half-pint stranger’s condemnation on top of it.
He watched as she crossed her arms and raised her chin. “Well, let me see,” she said coolly. “Maybe because I’m the woman who’s been in Austin’s life for the past eleven years. And this is the first time I’ve ever seen you.”
Jake wanted to howl at the unfairness of her charge. Except...was she actually wrong? He’d had a series of come-to-Jesus talks with himself on the endless journey back here and was forced to admit that he’d been looking at his dad ethic through a pretty skewed lens for a long time now. The admission made not defending himself to Ms. Salazar more than a simple matter of pride, more than an ingrained reluctance to plead his case to a stranger.
He couldn’t in all conscience smear the memory of Austin’s grandparents. Not only would it be too much like something his own father would have done—making it all about him and not giving a damn that his kid had loved the people he was trash-talking—but all that damn soul searching had made him realize that he’d spent too many years blaming Emmett and Kathy for doing the job he himself had abdicated.
They’d protected Austin. And if it cut to the bone that they’d felt it necessary to do so from him...well, I guess it sucks to be you, Slick.
Somewhere over Midway Island he’d dropped his defenses and admitted they had cut him a lot more slack than he’d deserved before they’d finally lowered the ax and banished him from Austin’s life.
But that wasn’t the central thing here—at least not right this minute. That would be that he was finally doing what he should have done a long time ago: stepping up.
So, go him.
Not that any of this prevented the woman standing in front of him from scratching at his temper. He took an involuntary step in her direction. “The fact remains, I’m Austin’s father and I’m here now.”
Apparently that wasn’t what she’d expected to hear, because she blinked long, dense lashes at him, just a single slow sweep that lowered fragile-looking lids over her almond-shaped eyes, then raised them again.
The action ate up a couple of seconds tops, yet somehow it was long enough to make him aware that he was standing a whole lot closer to her than he’d intended. It made him aware as well that, except for the blink, she’d gone very still. Had she seen his banked anger? Jake slowly straightened. Shit. She couldn’t possibly think he was going to hit her, could she?
He took a giant step back, shoving his hands in his Levi’s pockets.
In the sudden silence, the back door crashed open, and from the way little Ms. Salazar stiffened, he knew exactly who it was. Heart beginning to kick hard against the wall of his chest, he stared at the opening to the kitchen.
“Hey, Jenny,” called a male voice from the other room. “I’m home.” The refrigerator door opened, then slammed shut and the lid of something rattled against a hard surface. “Dude! Leave a cookie for me.”
“Trade ya for that carton of milk,” came a second youthful tenor.
“You better be using glasses!” Jenny raised her voice to warn. “If I see washback in my milk, you’re dead men.”
Glass clinked and a cupboard slapped closed. Silence reigned for a few moments after that, before being abruptly broken by the sound of stampeding feet. Two boys burst through the archway.
The boy in the lead was a gangly brunette who—sweet mother Mary—had the exact same all-bones-no-meat thirteen-year-old build Jake had had at the same age.
God oh God. All the moisture dried up in his mouth and his habit of being aware of everything around him—honed by years of knowing that otherwise he’d likely end up bitten by a snake, stung by an insect or mauled by an animal with way more tonnage, power and teeth than him—went up in smoke. The cozy little room and everything in it faded from his consciousness, leaving nothing but his son.
His.
Son.
Awash with joy, with terror, with a raft of pain and regret, Jake stared. An emotion he’d never experienced suffused his chest, while panic clawed at his gut. Jesus. He was shaking.
He hadn’t thought it would matter so much, hadn’t expected to be struck so hard. Was this what love felt like?
The thought snapped his spine straight. Hell, no.
It couldn’t be. A: he was a Bradshaw and Bradshaw men’s version of the Big L was so fucked it gave the sentiment a bad name. And B: a man had to actually know someone before he could start slinging that word around.
He drew a deep breath. It was probably just simple wonder that the kid could have gotten so big already. Jake’d had this image in his head of Austin at two, at four. Hell, at six even, which was how old Austin was the year Kathy had sent him the last picture.
But this was no little boy—this was an almost-grown teen. Not that Jake hadn’t known how old he was, of course.
He just hadn’t had a clear picture of it in his head.
He’d long ago convinced himself that he was doing the right thing—that Austin was better off with his grandparents, who could give him the stable, structured life that he himself could not. And he’d been right.
But now—face-to-face with what he hadn’t merely let slip through his fingers but had actively thrown away with no more than an occasional second thought—his carelessness felt like shards of glass hacking his gut to shreds.
Oblivious to the thoughts and feelings that threatened to swamp Jake, the boy crossed directly to Jenny without even glancing in his direction.
“Can I spend the night at Nolan’s?” he demanded. “His mom said it was okay.” His gaze passed incuriously over Jake, returned to Jenny. “She’s gonna order pizza from Bella T’s, and Nolan has a new Xbox game we’re gonna try ou—”
With a neck-snapping double take, the kid’s gaze suddenly shot back to lock on Jake’s. He took a step toward him, making Jake’s overburdened heart leap into his throat.
Then Austin snapped upright and an ask-me-if-I-give-a-shit expression molded his young face. He looked at Jake through pitch-black narrowed lashes. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, even though his shuttered expression made it obvious to anyone with eyes that he knew.
Jake swallowed, fighting to sound calm in the midst of the fucking circus taking place inside of him. Automatically, he started forward. “Your dad. I—”
The teen made a wrong-answer-buzzer noise that stopped him in his tracks. “Like hell you are. In case you don’t know...and I’m guessing you don’t since this is the first time I’ve ever seen ya,” he said, contempt coating his every word, “I’m thirteen. I don’t need or want a daddy in my life.” He turned back to Jenny, pinning her with angry eyes. “So can I stay the night at Nolan’s or what?”
Jake watched as she reached up to stroke the boy’s cheek, then visibly quelled the urge, clearly knowing he would hate the public show of sympathy. Instead she nodded. “Sure.”
Without another word—or so much as a quick peek in Jake’s direction—the teen turned and vanished with his friend into a room off the living room. When he reappeared less than a minute later, he was tucking a toothbrush into his jeans pocket. His other hand clutched a pair of flannel lounge pants.
“You need money for pizza?” Jenny asked.
“Nah,” the other kid answered. “Mom’s got it covered.”
Still ignoring Jake, Austin headed for the kitchen, Nolan tight on his six.
“Hey, wait a minute!” Jake stepped forward, but the two boys were already slamming out the back door.
Jake didn’t know if it was disappointment or relief that crashed through him. Whatever the sensation was, it nearly knocked him to his knees. God, he must have pictured this first meeting a hundred times since he’d received the news of Kathy’s and Emmett’s deaths, must have run as many scenarios through his mind. Not once, however, had he envisioned this. He’d been braced for his son’s anger, for a barrage of pointed questions he wasn’t sure he could answer to the boy’s satisfaction.
But how did a guy brace himself to be so utterly...dismissed? He turned on Jenny. “Are you kidding me? You let him just walk out?”
“What did you expect?” Her voice was cool, her gaze even cooler. “Austin’s just discovered that the man who fathered him, the man who was never here when he wanted him most, has finally deigned to show up. Don’t you think he might need a little time to process that?”
Yeah. He supposed he did. The kid had said it himself: he was thirteen—not that many years from being grown. Jake had missed his opportunity to be a father.
No. He squared his shoulders. The hell with that. Austin was a good five years from the bare minimum of being grown, which was a helluva long way from full-out grown. Yeah, he was late to the party, but this was his opportunity to be the man he should have been. And the first order of business was to establish a relationship with his son.
Given Austin’s reaction, though, it clearly wasn’t going to be easy. Well, tough shit. He wasn’t afraid of hard work.
Still. It’s a damn shame the kid’s too old to buy a pony.
He cleared his head and turned his attention to Jenny. “I agree, he does need time to process. But let me make myself clear. I’ve spoken with my lawyer, and matters are well in the works to have my parental rights returned to me.”
“No.” She stared at him as if he’d told her he got his jollies mutilating puppies.
“Yes. My attorney is drafting the documents as we speak. I only need to sign them when I get back to Manhattan. Once they’ve been filed, Austin will be where he belongs. With me.” Okay, probably not smart to tell her that—she looked as though it might not be beyond her to stage an “accident” before that happened.
No. That wasn’t murder in her eyes; she looked...crushed. Bereft. Sick to her soul.
And because he knew exactly how that felt, he gentled his voice. “Look, I don’t intend to grab Austin and run.” Okay, so his initial reaction when he’d heard both the Pierces were gone had been exactly that—to get back here, command Austin to pack up, then drag the kid back to where Jake had built a life for himself, at least for the part of each year he was in-country.
But he wasn’t gonna be that guy. He wasn’t going to be his father. “I’m not here to yank the rug out from under him that way. I know he needs time to adjust, to get to know me.”
She sagged in patent relief, and it bugged him that he was so attuned to her, that he harbored an urge to relieve her mind. It would be better for all concerned if no one entertained any false hopes.
“Make no mistake,” he instructed in his coolest voice, “my life is in New York and we will be moving there. I’ll stay here to give my son time to get accustomed to the idea. While he does, I’ll find out what, if anything, needs to be done about Emmett’s estate.”
Suspicion entered her eyes and he narrowed his own in response. “Don’t even go there. I’m not after Austin’s money—I’ve got plenty of my own.”
“And I should believe you because...?”
God! Why did that look, that tone, make him want to loom over her, to step too close, crowd into her space and see how she dealt with it?
The urge startled him, because, really, where the hell had that come from? He’d never manhandled or acted threatening toward a woman in his life.
And looking into her fierce little face, he almost snorted. Mighty Mouse here would probably call the sheriff’s department if he even looked like he was about to make a misstep. And rightly so, considering she was a woman alone in her house with him—a stranger she didn’t know from Adam and mistrusted the little she thought she did know.
But wouldn’t that just be the cherry on his fucking cupcake if his half brother Max showed up to arrest him? It would probably make the bastard’s day to haul his ass to jail.
He drew a steadying breath. “I don’t require that you believe me, but in the interest of playing nice with others, I’ll give you a freebie.” He pulled his wallet from his hip pocket and fished out a card, which he handed to her. “This is my assistant. Call her with your fax number and I’ll have her send you my latest bank statement.” He gave her a level look. “We have real issues to get through. Me stealing from my kid isn’t one of them.”
She folded her arms beneath little breasts. “What do you want from me?”
The reasonableness of her tone released some of the tension from his shoulders. “Austin clearly cares about you. I want you to be the conduit between us.”
She laughed in his face. “Why on earth would you think I’d do that?”
“Because while I’m willing to stay here for the next two or whatever months to let him finish the school year, in the end we will move to Manhattan.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be taking him away from everything familiar, and I don’t fool myself it’ll be a popular decision. If you care about him, you’ll make the transition easier for him. Or you can keep your mad on going with me and make it hard. I guess it’s up to you.”
She looked a
t him a long time. “All right. I’ll think about it.” Her extravagant eyelashes lowered until her eyes were mere coffee-dark glints shining between them. “For Austin’s sake,” she stressed. “Whatever I decide, I won’t be doing it for you.”
“No shit,” he muttered, but thrust out his hand to shake on the deal. Her narrow fingers were warm as she slid them across his palm, her grip firm.
He was caught unprepared for the spark of electricity that shot through him at the contact. But he buried his response, countering it with his all-purpose wry smile.
“Trust me, I didn’t assume otherwise for a minute.”
CHAPTER TWO
AFTER JAKE BRADSHAW LEFT, Jenny paced from the couch to the fireplace to the picture window, no sooner reaching one destination than lighting out for the next. The already small living room felt like it was shrinking decrementally by the minute.
She had no idea how much time had passed before her restless circuit finally ended back at the window. She stared blindly beyond the resort grounds to the peekaboo glimpse of The Brothers, the prominent twin peaks in the Olympic mountain range that the inn was named after. “Oh, God.” Thrusting her hands through her hair, she knocked her forehead once, twice, three times against the cool glass. “What the hell am I going to do?”
Nothing came to mind. And wasn’t that too whacked for words—she who had had a plan since her daddy was sent to the pen when she was barely sixteen? At the moment, however, her mind was nothing but white noise, her stomach awash in red-hot acid. And she couldn’t string two consecutive thoughts together to save her soul.
She needed Tasha.
Just the thought of her best friend made her stomach a fraction less messed up, and she dashed into the bedroom, snatched her purse from the top of her dresser where she always left it, and headed back toward the door.
On the way, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of her open closet door.
“Holy crap.” She’d forgotten she was still wearing her cleaning clothes. Not to mention that she was devoid of so much as a hint of makeup and her do was totally pulled apart in front from her ten-fingered grab-and-bang. “That’s not pretty.”
That Thing Called Love Page 2